


violet ice

by crrackerjack



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Hockey AU, M/M, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, but also red and blue yknow, figure skating AU, yes the title is meant to sound like 'violent'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:13:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10027526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crrackerjack/pseuds/crrackerjack
Summary: “Hey Pidge?”“Yeah, man?”“Did that cute guy see me pass out?”A nervous laugh came from Hunk, and Pidge snickered. Shiro shook his head in disbelief.“Yeah, he did. He rushed to the glass as soon as you fell,” They paused, that same small smirk reappearing, “and y’know what he said? He said your fall was more graceful than your skating the entire game.”Otherwise known as:That one fic where Lance is a figure skater and Keith is a hockey player and it gets real gay.





	1. broken ribs

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, so.. this is my first klance fic. don't judge me too hard if i go back and change things, 'cause i pretty much have no plan with this thing. enjoy, though, i love my gay sons.

By the time hands gripped his shoulders, Keith’s helmet had skittered across the ice, his nose dripping a dark red. He charged against the strong grip, almost snarling at the larger player. The opposing team’s defenseman was snarling in his face, a tooth hanging loosely behind the split lip that Keith vaguely remembered slamming with his gloved fist.

To the rowdy fans’ dismay, the referees finally finished taking their time skating over and pushed the two men apart. Keith was dragged away, vision still slightly blurry and his head pounding. He barely could hear a thing, his own heartbeat pulsing in his ears. Drying blood cracked as a sluggish grin broke out on his face, his laughing hysterical and humourless.

He wanted Hunk to let him go, but he let himself be overpowered by his goalie. If he really wanted to, he could try to push himself away from Hunk, but the big softie was a lot stronger than he looked. Under all that anxiety and rainbow assortment of bandanas, Hunk could be extremely intimidating. Opposing teams were often on the bad end of that attribute. 

Not only this, but Shiro was watching him with that tight grimace he always had when Keith got into fights. At the moment, it made Keith only glare harder at his attacker, but he knew that in the locker room later he’d get the lecture about how Matt “got seriously injured,” and how Shiro “doesn’t want the same to happen to their best player.”

After Hunk had shoved him into the penalty box, a mirthless exhale out of his nose was the only reaction he gave when Pidge explained. No one really know how exactly Pidge came to be a part of the team, but the Garrison University Lions wouldn't be the same without them. Too small and unfortunately female to become a player, their sass and quick hits to the back of the head became a common feature when someone did something dumb. 

Coincidentally, Keith had done something dumb.

“You lucky bastard.” Pidge chuckled, crossing their arms over their chest. “That dense dipshit hit you first, so you’ve been considered a case of self defense, basically. You're safe from suspension but you're still serving a penalty for hitting him- nice right hook, by the way.”

He smirked, leaning back contentedly. The guy had pretty much been trying to body slam him to the ice the whole game, and he couldn't help but feel proud of himself. His head fell against the edge of the barrier between him and the rows of people in the stands, and he looked at their faces to pass the time. 

Most were either cursing under their breath in bright orange University of Balmera City jerseys or fist bumping other Lions fans- if they weren’t so drunk or fired up they missed . His scanning glare faltered, dashing back a few seats to meet blue.

Someone was gazing right back at him, amusement on their lips with some strange glint in their eye. The watcher straightened in surprise at being caught, and then blew him a teasing kiss. His eyebrows furrowed together, and he scowled slightly with a raised eyebrow. Before he could think about it more, he was thrown back into the game. 

 

Lance pouted disappointedly when the cute player was dragged back onto the ice. The smaller one smacked the back of his helmet again, and he whipped around to flip them- her? He?- off. Lance couldn’t quite tell, and he was involved enough in the community to know to avoid stepping on people’s toes.

If he was going to be honest with himself, he wasn’t here to just poke fun at how the players seemed to lumber across the ice, he was here to support his best bro, his buddy, his best friend. Hunk had been there for him through every struggle- which even earned them the nicknames Thick and Thin from Lance’s mother(the “Thick” part was meant affectionately, she assured). They always had each other’s backs, though. Lance would shut down every joke about his buddy’s weight, and Hunk would threaten to punch the lights out of whoever targeted his flamboyant personality and obvious bisexuality.

The two became inseparable after they met on the ice. Their worlds were never supposed to really cross, but their childhood ice rink didn’t have as many students as it would like, and Lance had needed a partner. Hunk- even though he was part of the ice hockey group and not the figure skating program- skidded to a halt in front of the teacher and quietly volunteered to work with him. Ever since that day, Lance was never just “Lance,” and Hunk was never just “Hunk”. It was always “Hunk and Lance”.

He jolted out of his thoughts about Hunk’s potential future as a professional hockey player as the buzzer shouted. Everyone around him jumped out of their seats with a collective ruckus, only some having negative reactions to whatever had just happened on the ice. Lance glanced at the scoreboard, smirking as he realized that their team had scored another goal. It was obvious they would win the game.

 

The game was over. Keith and Hunk shared a dull high five through their gloves as the crowd roared. Shiro skidded to a halt in front of them, a familiar, youthful grin on his face. They had won again, and Shiro always got that giddy adrenaline rush after a victory. He and Keith bumped helmets, a tradition since high school. 

“Yo, Keith! Message for ya.” Pidge’s arm shot up in the air, beckoning to him with their finger like he was attached on a string. He weaved through referees and pissed opponents to the glass, cocking an eyebrow.

“So?” He questioned, wanting to go join his friends in their continued winning streak. The little bundle of sass smirked, handing him a napkin. He looked at them in confusion.

“What, do I have blood on my face still?” They rolled their eyes and took the napkin back, slamming it against his face guard. He grunted in feigned annoyance as his eyes focused on the now apparent writing. A sequence of 7 numbers caught his eye, and he pushed Pidge’s arm away.

He scoffed, his eyes scrolled over the cell number backwards and forwards. “Did the kid in the weird jacket with yellow stripes on the arm give you this for me?” The violet eyes scanned the smaller one’s face, and immediately caught the small tweak at the corner of their lip. They were trying to hide their smirk, but they’d always sucked at not being smug. He was about to accuse them of their snarkiness when a sharp pain knocked the breath out of his lungs.

A cough wrung itself from Keith’s throat, a groan following. That dickhead player had slammed into his side with his shoulder pad, and if he could speak he would have swore to Pidge that the whole stadium could hear his rib crack. The guy was yanked off of him, wrenching a breathless whine from Keith’s heaving chest.

“Keith!” He heard a familiar voice call to him, and he used the little strength he had left to tilt his head towards Shiro, both he and Hunk pushing the other player back into the arms of his pissed off coach.

A slow smile creeped onto his face, the blinking of his eyes coming slower and slower. “Hey, Shiro? Why’s the stadium getting so dark..?” He rasped, black slowly enveloping his eyesight. Panic settled in his chest as he realized what was happening, and he started to repeat Shiro’s name over and over like prayer. He gripped the metal arm of his adoptive brother tightly, hyperventilating. Keith Kogane could always handle his pain well, but passing out terrified him more than he could express.

“It’s okay, Keith. I’m here, you’re just gonna take a little nap now and then I’ll see you in a bit, okay buddy?” Shiro was terrified as well, but Keith didn’t seem to register the fright in his voice as he slipped out of consciousness.

 

A whimper of pain came from the sophomore laying on the bench. Shiro immediately took a step closer to him, his breath hitching as he realized just how frail Keith’s frame looked. Pidge was already kneeling on the other side of the bench, their hand never leaving Keith’s as he woke. He woke with a disoriented grunt, sluggishly opening his eyes. His sight seemed to be out of focus, a faint throbbing present in his right side. His senses seemed jumbled, a worried voice calling his name sounding like it was coming from underwater. Stupidly, he tried to sit up, a sharp cry leaving his lips.

“Woah, woah, take it easy buddy. Try not to move your chest.” Keith could recognize the voice as Shiro now, his large shoulders coming into view above him.

He chuckled dryly, raising his left arm in a fist. “Coulda warned me of that thirty seconds ago, man.” Shiro grinned apologetically, gently bumping his fist with his own.

“So, you tiny smart-ass, what damage did he do?” He slowly turned his head to Pidge, noticing that his helmet had been removed while he was out.

“Well, we don’t know exactly yet, but the medical team said you definitely broke at least two ribs.” A collective intake of breath came from their little group, and Keith almost felt like throwing up. He couldn’t play like this, Coran- the coach- would kill him for it if the playing didn’t first. Even so, he couldn’t help but feel guilty, as if being tackled was his fault and he had let down the team.

“Hey Pidge?”

“Yeah, man?”

“Did that cute guy see me pass out?”

A nervous laugh came from Hunk, and Pidge snickered. Shiro shook his head in disbelief.

“Yeah, he did. He rushed to the glass as soon as you fell,” They paused, that same small smirk reappearing, “and y’know what he said? He said your fall was more graceful than your skating the entire game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a lot shorter than i intended, but hey, it's the first chapter. next one will be longer, i promise.


	2. romanticized jail cells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this update took so long, school got really hectic all of a sudden. hope you enjoy, though!

Ambulances are not the fast-paced, chaotic vehicle shown in action movies- at least, not when you’re just a passenger. Shiro sat on a very uncomfortable bench, wringing his hands. It had become a habit ever since he came back from his deployment, his mind continuously obsessing and reminding him of how foreign and clearly-not-his the prosthetic arm was.

Seeing Keith, his adoptive little brother, stretched out on a gurney was a shock. He’d seen hundreds of his fellow soldiers and enemy fighters wheeled off to have emergency amputations and life-saving shrapnel extractions, but none of them hit as hard as the scarily peaceful face of his passed out best friend. His long hair was still sprawled out behind his head and adhered to his face by drying sweat, making him look even more ragged and wild than he actually was. He looked lifeless, his hand hanging limply over the edge of the gurney. 

A single attendant was bustling around him, doing routine concussion checks and paying special attention to his torso. His jersey had been stripped from him when he was still conscious, leaving him in shoulder pads and a red tank top. Shiro had been too scared to remove the shoulder pads, terrified to injure his ribs further, and Pidge assured him that Coach Coran would find him new ones if they had to cut them off.

He huffed a sarcastic laugh to himself, thinking about how easily he could have been in an identical ambulance, jostling him all the way down the highway to a hospital room just down the hall from Keith. Rolo had bragged about how he hadn’t even been affected by the concussion he’d gotten last season, and called Keith a baby for fainting. Shiro nearly decked the junior, the only thing holding him back being the steadfast hold on his shoulder from Hunk and the tug on his hand from Pidge. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to revel in the fleeting satisfaction of telling him off.

“Can you shut your damn mouth for three seconds? My brother is lying unconscious and hurt and all you can talk about is your fucking self! Do you have any idea how serious this could be? Our team was shit before Keith joined- this season had the longest winning streak Garrison U has had since the ‘80s! But, oh, sure, a player who makes absolutely no contribution and no name for himself is so high and mighty over someone who blacked out after being assaulted.” Shiro jerked himself against Hunk and Pidge’s grip, trying to get in Rolo’s face, but only succeeding in making the gangly 20 year old flinch backwards despite the stubborn set of his jaw. Shiro was only a year above him, but he had joined at 20 instead of 18 because of his enlistment and recovery time.

“As your team captain I am extremely disappointed in the lack of empathy that you are showing for the player that saved your ass not just last game, but the two games before that as well! If he hadn’t been there to make that final shot last game, we would’ve been eliminated. And you know what? You’ve been an ungrateful asshole to the entirety of the Lions ever since you joined! Not just Keith, not just me, hell- not even just the team! Coran has had to scold you multiple times for your misconduct, Allura has never been treated as terribly by a student as she has been by you, and it’s all because you want to impress your girlfriend, isn’t it? Go back to fucking Galra Academy, I am done. With. Your. Shit.” He successfully pulled himself out of the hold Hunk had on him, punctuating every one of his last few words with a hard jab to the chest.

Rolo narrowed his eyes, fuming. He knew he couldn’t take Shiro- the ex-soldier was at least a head taller than him and much stronger. Hunk had broke into a fresh sweat just from holding him back. Shiro yanked him closer by his jersey, eyes glinting with anger. The scar that ran across his nose bridge crinkled with the force of his words.

“Either you get your act together or I will bench you for the rest of the season. Maybe I’ll even have a little chat with Coran about your worth in this team, mm?” He snarled, releasing Rolo from his grasp. Pidge grabbed Shiro’s hand again, pulling him away from Rolo while flipping him off.

“Calm down, Takashi. Keith will be fine.” They reassured him, and he responded by nodding frantically, shutting his eyes tight. He went to sit by Keith, resting his forehead against his chest.

Pidge and Hunk exchanged a look, a nonverbal conversation clearly displayed by their expressions. Neither of them had seen Shiro blow up so badly, and they were both a little more than worried.

He was broken out of his memories by the loud click and rush of cool air from the door opening. Instinctively, he jumped up to help the EMT transport Keith, but he was pushed aside with a polite but rehearsed line that barely reached his ears. He watched intentively as they wheeled him into the hospital, the driver telling him to head to the waiting room. Almost immediately after he stepped out, Pidge barreled into him, followed by Hunk and someone he’d never spoken to before.

The unknown member of the little trio had striking blue eyes that stood out even more against his bronze skin, short but slightly shaggy brown hair fell against his forehead. He stood tall, just a couple inches below Shiro, but still not as tall as Hunk. He was lean but muscular, and clearly moved with the grace of a dancer. Shiro had a feeling this was the figure-skater-best-friend Hunk had talked about from his childhood, this assumption proving more truthful from the way he and Pidge bickered like siblings.

“Lance, I’m guessing?” Shiro held out his flesh hand, and the smaller man’s eyes lit up a little at his name. Apparently he hadn’t been expecting Shiro to know him either. He nodded, shaking his hand firmly. As stereotypical as it was of someone of his background, Shiro appreciated the strong grip.

“I don’t have my car right now, and I’m afraid putting both Hunk and I on his old bike might break it, so I asked Lance to drive us. He wanted to come along as well- in his words, ‘I’m worried about the hot-but-sucky-skater.’ Real charming, our buddy here is.” Pidge received a jab under the ribs at this, a murmuring of heated Spanish following it. Pidge laughed in response, pushing Lance away.

“Sorry, Shiro. I didn’t know his name, and this was before I knew how serious his injuries might be.” He glared at Pidge as he apologized, both Hunk and the small jokester laughing a bit. Shiro smiled in response, happy they were trying to lighten the mood. He could tell they were really worried, though. Pidge kept adjusting their glasses and grabbing onto Shiro’s arm, Hunk crowding all three of them protectively. He led the way into the hospital, exhaling through tight lips as he pushed into the waiting room.

Keith felt like absolute shit. Prying his eyelids open felt like trying to scrape a burning pancake off a pan. White ceiling tiles faded in and out of sight, and he could almost feel his eyes trying desperately to focus on something. A heavy pressure was on his thigh, and he could feel a dip in the bed directly next to it. He tried to sit up and see what it was, but his head immediately began to throb. A groan escaped him, and he clenched his hand into a fist in frustration. Shiro always told him that he’d never seen someone who had so much against accepting getting hurt. Something about being so weak and dependent on the identically clothed nurses in the identical, white walled rooms made him feel like he was locked up in a cell. The pressure on his leg relieved, and he wiggled his leg a little bit to bring back the fading feeling.

“Keith? Buddy?” That familiar, low voice called to him softly. A small smile appeared on his face, making his cheeks feel like they were cracking. His entire body was tired, and even slightly moving a muscle made him feel like an old car being fired up for the first time in months.

“Hey, Shiro.” He rasped, raising his left hand. His eyebrows furrowed in momentary confusion at a slight tug on his index finger, and a scowl replaced the smile as he realized that he was wired up to a heart monitor. The entire right side of his torso was extremely cold, an ice pack resting against his ribs. Keith gave Shiro a look, and received an apologetic shrug in reply.

“You passed out again. You have a concussion, but the doctors said it’s a lot better than they expected for someone who was out for 3 hours. You woke up for a bit, but you fell asleep almost immediately after the doctors finished with their check-in.” His voice was shaky, his eyes downcast. He was wringing his hands, an old habit from before he had to get his prosthetic. The habit wasn’t the same now, the slick feeling of cold metal shaking him from it. He had been in the army, enlisting when he was 17. Just a year later, he had been sent home, leaving his real arm overseas. It took Keith months to finally get him to feel like himself again, and he enrolled in Garrison University as soon as he was cleared.

“Did you stay in this romanticized jail cell the entire time?” Shiro offered an awkward, apologetic upwards tilt of the corner of his mouth, reminiscent of the smile he used to give him when he got into fistfights with the local bullies. Keith waved him off, resting his hand on his shoulder. “I’m fine, Takashi,” Shiro’s face immediately took on his usual big brotherly charm at the sound of his first name, “it takes more than that prick Sendak from Galra Academy for Being a Huge Dick to shut me down. He did hit hard, though- his shoulder felt like a fuckin’ boulder.” Shiro laughed, and Keith’s smile returned. It was shaky, though. Everything was shaky. His body, his plans for the next games, his career plan, his trust in himself to not bring down the team. The only thing that was truly solid was the weight of Shiro’s hand- his real hand, not the metal prosthetic. He tried to never touch anyone with the metal one- on his thigh, warm and calming. Oh, that and his downright annoyance at that stupidly cute guy from the crowd.

 

If Keith was truly honest, the hospital food tasted like shit on cardboard. When Hunk came in, he snuck some food to him, but most of it was confiscated by the doctors- or sometimes even Shiro, that traitor- for being too sugary. They were keeping him overnight, despite his protests that he could walk just fine and his vision didn’t even go blurry anymore. But, they wouldn’t relent, and Shiro agreed that it was strange that he had been out for so long and somehow only had a minor concussion and a fractured rib.

Pidge nearly smacked him when they were let in the room, going off on him about how he shouldn’t have angered the guy. But, just like the big brother he always was, Shiro stepped in and refreshed her memory on the fact that the other player was the one who treated him like a matador and bull-charged him. They were still fuming, but they settled down enough to pass him a printed out version of the latest news on another one of their conspiracies(they wanted to use their newly decked out laptop, but Keith wasn’t supposed to look at such bright light). He was on some pretty heavy pain meds, so most of what Pidge was bouncing up and down in their seat about was lost on his drug-riddled brain. Even so, he let his small-yet-scary friend ramble to him. 

Keith knew that they were stressed out- he could tell from the fresh tooth shape indents in their lips and knuckles. For the past 6 months, their older brother, Matt, had been in a coma because of a car accident after one of their games. Pidge was in the seat next to him, and should’ve at least broken their collarbone, but Matt threw himself over them to shield them as best he could. They’d been terrified of any injury on the ice ever since, and Keith accepted the worry with a bit of his own.

Surprisingly, the ‘cute guy’ came with them. It was explained to him that he was the only ride Pidge and Hunk had, but it was still a shock for both of them- the bruise and black eye on the guy’s face, how frail and tired ‘Kogane’ looked in comparison to the fiery player he’d seen the night before. They stared awkwardly for a little while, but were saved by Hunk clearing his throat and offering food.

“So, uh… I’m La-” Keith cut him off before he could finish his introduction.

“Is the shiner from Sendak?” He asked bluntly, scooping a soft carrot out of his soup. “La” raised his eyebrows, a smirk growing. He nodded smugly, shoveling some of Hunk’s home-cooked meal into his mouth.

“Downright prick, he hits hard.” He said, although, it sounded more like, “Dowrigh prih, ‘e ‘it ‘ard.” He hadn’t bothered to swallow his soup before replying, and Keith crinkled his nose in slight disgust.

The guy swallowed, grinning. “Before you so unceremoniously interrupted me, I was going to say my name. I’m Lance, Lance McClain.” Keith snickered at the James Bond-esque introduction, but slowly stuck his hand out all the same.

“Keith Kogane,” Lance shook his hand gingerly, holding it as if it would break with the slightest grip. He tightened his hold on the brunettes hand, furrowing his eyebrows and narrowing his eyes slightly in a challenge. He received a smirk as a response, Lance crowding into his space slightly. Blue flickered away from his gaze every so quickly, but the movement to his lips wasn’t unnoticed by the player. Hunk cleared his throat awkwardly, waving his hand at the two of them as if he was clearing the air of some sort of tension. Lance dropped his hand, throwing himself down into his seat again.

Keith’s hand tingled- whether it was from the grip or Lance himself, he wasn’t sure.

 

Hunk and Lance continued talking while Keith ate, both having finished before him. He allowed their conversation to wash over him, drowning in the clearly recurring “argument.” They were like an old married couple- bickering endlessly and playfully, making references to past experiences that Keith had no knowledge of. He and Pidge were like that, always poking fun at each other’s quirks and how they fit their perceived archetype so well, and yet both of them knew things about the other that didn’t match anything about their image. Pidge was the only one who knew about his love for the movie Mulan, and he was the only one who knew about their secret obsession with trap music. 

“Hello, Earth to Keith, mayday, mayday, we’ve lost contact with Cherry Bomb.” The long haired boy shook himself from his memories as he realized that Lance’s face was inches from his own. Lance stood up, laughing. 

“What? I spaced out.” He admitted bluntly, and Lance snorted. Hunk gave him a glare- well, the closest thing the big softie could to a glare, it was pretty much a pleading gaze- and told him to sit down.

“The doctor said that you can come home tomorrow morning. But, until then, you need to be resting. Once you get home, you’re not allowed to skate or really do any physical activity for at least four weeks. You have to ice your ribs and take some prescribed pain meds, but the four of us will take care of you.” Hunk smiled at him, trying to ignore the scowl that took over Keith’s face. Four weeks? Four weeks? How was he supposed to play? He couldn’t even practice!

“Woah, woah, woah, slow your roll, Angtsy-Pants. Don’t worry about hockey or skating! Once you’ve recovered, you’re gonna work on getting back up to speed with me!” Lance grinned brightly, and Keith’s jaw dropped open.

“I’m going to what?”


	3. bonding moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time, no see, guys. sorry about the wait. this chapter is sadly a little all over the place, but I wanted to develop a couple of things and this update was already way overdue. hope you enjoy it and the odd ending anyways.

Keith slammed his hands against the ice in frustration. He squeezed his eyes shut, repeating his mantra over and over again. Patience yields focus, patience yields focus, patience yields focus… Too bad I can’t be patient when Lance fucking McClain is my tutor! Slender hands gently held his waist, steadying him as he staggered to his feet. He wanted to rip away from them, but it had only been 3 weeks since he was hospitalized, and he still needed all the support he could get. The doctors had cleared him for light practice- no contact, nothing too fast, no pucks(or in other words, everything that made him a great hockey player)- so Shiro had sent him over to Lance for “rehabilitation.” In reality, he knew it was just so that Keith would get out of his hair. The last time he had been as restless as he had been this past month, he had been in 8th grade and was banned from playing hockey until he fixed his flunking grades in math, computer science, and language arts.

“You’re doing really well, hotshot! Well, I mean, you’re good for someone who hasn’t been on the ice in 3 weeks… But, for a hockey player… You kinda suck.” Keith threw Lance a glare, and the slender hands were immediately retracted and held up in surrender. Keith stumbled immediately, and Lance skated in extremely close to hold him up. Keith slumped into the support, Lance making an unsure noise as pale hands rested against his chest. The shorter of the two glanced down at the arms wrapped around his waist again, his breath hitching in his throat a little bit. Lance couldn’t tell if it was because it was him holding him or if it was just Keith not being used to so much physical contact in one day. 

Keith cleared his throat, pushing off the taller skater slightly. “Maybe- uh, maybe we could take a break?” He breathed shallowly, trying to keep from bothering his still hurting ribs. Lance nodded quickly, gracefully guiding him over to the familiar penalty box. He really appreciated what Lance was trying to do, but he was so infuriated with himself that he just couldn’t seem to form a kind thought. Time seemed to slow slightly as he dropped into his seat, his eyes focusing on a drop of sweat falling from his nose. It hit his glove, the world spinning slowly in his peripherals as his head dipped forward slowly. Sound grew quieter, almost as if a bubble encased him and blocked out his surroundings. He jolted out of this nauseating trance when Lance shook his shoulder gently, and he slowly blinked himself back into focus as he raised his head. Lance’s face was contorted in concern, his eyebrows raised and his eyes scared. Keith gripped the hand on his shoulder lightly, trying to shake himself from the drowsiness that had captured him.

“Keith? Keith? Buddy? Hey, you good?” Lance looked terrified, his hold tightening on Keith as the shorter skater gradually recovered from the dizzy spell. He nodded slowly, leaning into Lance as his chest tightened and he tried his best not to let himself cry. He hated how safe he felt in Lance’s arms, how the walls he had set up seemed to crash down whenever he saw Lance’s blue eyes swimming with worry or his bright smile lighting up his entire face.

He had lost his support system when Shiro went to war, and he closed himself off as a promise to be strong for Shiro. Ever since Shiro had come back, it had become extremely hard for him to open up again. His brother had changed overseas, his drive and his ideals hardening, his reactions to certain things being altered so much that he had seemed like a new person at first. He had lost his familiarity along with his arm, and Keith didn’t know how to deal with it.

Then, he met Pidge and Hunk, and they welcomed him only with care and ideas, and his shell was cracked. They held him when he revealed how hard it had been, how hard it was to accept himself as he explored his identity without someone to confide in. Pidge related to his struggles especially, seeing as their brother had been sent into a coma around the same time as when they came out. They introduced him to Lance, who became a reluctantly close friend as he recovered. The warmth of their relationships was suffocating, but he’d never wanted to smother himself in love like he did with them.

Lance waited patiently for Keith to recover, holding him closer and rubbing his arm slowly. This had happened a few times already, and he knew how it terrified Keith. The poor guy was shaking so bad that he couldn’t tell if he was cold or scared.

“C’mon, buddy, let’s go get some ice cream or something. We’ll return to this tomorrow, or maybe the day after.” He spoke softly, sweeping the dark hair out of Keith’s strangely violet eyes. The smaller man nodded slowly, pushing himself up off of Lance’s legs, his arms shaking slightly. Lance immediately supported his back with a warm hand, receiving a small jolt in response. He pulled it away slightly, but Keith relaxed into the support and stood up easily.

“Yeah.. That sounds nice.” His voice was quiet, but he offered a shaky smile that made Lance relax some. He reached into his pocket to shoot a text to Pidge, telling his close friend of 9 years to meet them there.

He and Pidge had met in middle school- or, as Lance knew them then, “Katie.” Their father was a researcher, and their entire family was used to moving throughout the country and world so that he could continue his assignments. Coincidentally, one of their destinations was Cuba. Lance’s family became their hosts for three years, and Lance and “Katie” were forced to share a room. There were three rooms for the children of the house. Before the Holt family had joined the household, Lance and his two younger siblings, Sofia and Luis, each had their own rooms. This had been decided when his two older siblings, Carmen and Xavier, had moved out of the house. Once four new people joined the family, though, boarding arrangements became a topic of conversation again. Luis moved into Sofia’s room, “Katie” had no choice but to partner up with Lance in what used to be him and Xavier’s room, and Matt got Carmen’s old room.

After living in such quarters, they grew just as inseparable as “Katie” and Matt were. Schoolwork was a collaborative effort whether it was a group project or not, and free time was spent fooling around with video games and Pokémon trading cards. Lance had whispered that he was bisexual to his bunkmate in the middle of the night, expecting “Katie” to be grossed out and beg to be moved into Matt’s room, but instead he got a whispered reply revealing that they were nonbinary. It wasn’t really a common thing where they were living, but they both confided in each other without any hesitation.

After their father was done with his assignment(no one knew exactly what he did, they all just assumed it had something to do with the government since his exchange always changed on every job), they were told to head back to America. Both families had grown quite fond of each other, and Lance knew he’d never make it as a figure skater at a school like his. After at least a month and a half of begging, he was allowed to go to America with the Holts. And, as he would describe it, the rest is history.

About halfway to the parlor, Pidge’s olive green Wrangler pulled up beside them. Hunk unzipped the window and pulled down the plastic sheet, Pidge immediately shouting from the driver’s seat.

“Get in, losers! We’re getting wasted on dairy and unnecessary sugar!” They said in a voice that seemed all too big for such a small person.Gasolina thumped from the radio, spurring Lance into an impromptu dance recital on the side of the road. Keith smiled softly as the other two laughed at his antics, letting the warmth of their little group wash over him. He knew he was a piece of their puzzle that hadn’t quite found its fit yet, but they made him feel like there was no rush to find his spot.

The two of them clambered into the backseat over Hunk, and Keith only felt more relaxed when Hunk’s large and warm hand guided his way, protecting his sore ribs. Pidge seemed to have their memory jogged by this extra help, and turned down the car-shaking music. He nodded in acknowledgement, and scowled playfully when Lance ruffled his hair. He wouldn’t have thought anything of it if Lance’s hand hadn’t stayed on his head. He cocked an eyebrow at the other, but his face gradually relaxed when Lance began running his fingers through his hair. By the time, they reached the ice cream parlor, he had nearly fallen asleep from his ministrations. Hunk threatened to carry him in, so he finally got up.

 

“Shiro! I’m home!” Keith called as he entered the apartment, his stomach full of banana ice cream and dark chocolate, the door clicking shut softly behind him as he pulled off his scarf and jacket. There was no response. That’s… Unlike him, Keith thought to himself, he’d at least leave a note if he was gonna be out.

He had just started walking towards his room when he started hearing it. Creaking, a rhythmic thumping, whispering voices, and definitely human noises that he never wanted to hear from Shiro’s room again. His face contorted into a mix of disgust and slight pride. Keith was happy for his brother, really. It was about damn time he and Allura got together. Even so… He couldn’t stay while that was happening. After hurriedly scribbling a note, he yanked his scarf and jacket back on and started the walk to Pidge, Hunk, and Lance’s dorm.


End file.
